Rooftop
by Man in the Suit
Summary: John Reese has just finished protecting the two latest numbers from a violent crime. What is uncertain, however, is whether he'll be able to do the same for himself when the ghosts of his past return to haunt him. The final heart-wrenching moments and thoughts of Number Crunch (1.10) from Reese's POV.


Bathed in the pale green glare of dim fluorescence, we arrived near the arranged meeting place and slipped behind a car by a pillar, hidden from view. Tossing our bags on the pavement, I immediately began surveying the area. Stairwells to the right, thick concrete pillars stretching to the ceiling, winding steam lines overhead bulged between steel beams- Nothing terribly unusual. The intermittent flickering of the lights showed only a few, maybe a dozen, cars remained on the floor, at this hour most likely only hospital staff and patients.

I inhaled the parking structure's stale air and drew my rifle from the black bag, tuning the delicate sights. If everything were to run smoothly in this dealing of ours, precision would be a must.

I turned to Wendy. "Call him. Tell him he doesn't see you- or the money- until you see Paula."

She quickly dug her phone from the bottom of her purse, dialed, and held the device to her ear, reiterating my words.

Across the aisle, a dark figure got out of a dark SUV, hidden by its mass. I readied myself behind my weapon. _The abductor._ He opened the back door, producing Paula and prodding her into the open forcefully. Her anxious, wild eyes met her sister's in a fleeting moment of security. The teenager looked stressed and battered, but unharmed. Breathing a sigh of relief, I placed my hand on Wendy's quavering shoulder.

This could still work.

"Paula's okay. You're going to walk towards her." I murmured. "If I shout, you run, okay?"

The woman gave a hesitant, but satisfactory nod in return.

"Go."

Pushing back a lock of blood-red hair, Wendy slowly approached the vehicle, unassuming brown paper bag in hand concealing thousands in ransom. I kept my silent vigil behind our pillar, monitoring the scene closely through crosshairs. A wave of tension waxed above, threatening to break loose and engulf all in chaos.

Faint, solid footsteps suddenly echoed behind me, heralding the arrival of some unknown force. Adrenaline surging through my veins, I turned sharply to see the same cordial nurse we'd met earlier inside the hospital beaming at me in curiosity.

"You again? Have you lost your car?"

I smiled back disarmingly in reply, deflecting her quickly. "I'm waiting for someone." Though it hadn't been long, I was reluctant to have averted my eyes from the sisters, even for this short amount of time, when they could easily need backup at any moment.

"Okay, 'night then." She walked off, seemingly satisfied, but her timing simply seemed far too impeccable for my tastes. Wary, I turned, only to greet the end of her gun. She fired.

Dropping to evade the incoming lead, I found myself lying prone on the asphalt. I wasn't all too keen on meeting _those._

_They're in league… And here I had thought everything was going so well._

I glimpsed the woman duck behind her car out of the corner of my eye, flipped onto my front, drew my gun and fired at her partner. The bullet streaked well above his head and ruptured a steam pipe on the ceiling. I smirked. My bullet hadn't hit the man- but who says that's what I'd wanted? The sharp ping of metal on metal rang out and a jet of steam was unleashed on the kidnapper from above. The man squalled and swore, thrashing about blindly under the vapor. I shouted across to the pair.

"Wendy, Paula: run!"

Paula stood petrified, wide eyes fixed on her former captor. I called after her once more, impelling the teen to sprint towards her sister, who had sought shelter behind the row of cars nearest the stairwell.

The numbers' safety confirmed, I circled behind the woman's car silently, catching the woman off guard. Commenting lightly, I struck. "I_ thought_-" I wrenched her wrist around rapidly, disarming her with the ease of expertise. "-you were_ nice_." Forced to resort to hand-to-hand, she swung at my head. Ducking, I evaded her blows and dealt many more of my own, but time wasted as I matched jab for jab, block for block. Then, one misjudged strike found its way to my jaw, a glancing but solid blow. The familiar, metallic tang of blood permeated my mouth.

_Ok, playtime's over._

In the next moment the nurse lunged to get a hold on me, thinking she'd gained the upper-hand. In a fluid motion I seized her shoulders, thrusting her headlong through the passenger side window. Crimsoned shards of glass glistened and fell to the ground with the felled woman. _Rough shift today, huh?_ I checked her vitals swiftly. Though battered, she was only unconscious. _Well, that's one down..._

Without warning, the scalded man arose and set into motion, beginning a blind, rage driven charge in my direction lead by the fire of his outstretched gun. _One to go. _Instinctively dropping to one knee in evasion, I shot four into him before he finally hit the pavement. _Almost forgot about you._ Panting, I kept my gaze locked on the pair and held my position, vigilant, gun at the ready, for a time, the sounds of combat ringing in my ears. The sisters soon overcame their shock and made their way over to me. I didn't look up.

"Are you okay?"

They both nodded, eyes wide. Paula glanced down at the bag of bills, then thrust it towards me. "Will you take this?" she asked, more a statement than a request.

I looked up at her and stood, gently pushing back her still-trembling hand. "No, you earned it. No one's coming after you anyways. Not now." I glanced back over my shoulder to check the would-be perps. The woman showed no signs of stirring, let alone a second wind, but I could hear the whirr of a rising elevator not too far below us. "You should go quickly."

Wendy smiled wistfully and delivered one last grateful glance before walking out of the parking structure, arm wrapped around Paula's shoulders. I'd kept them safe. What stuck with me as I climbed the stairwell afterwards, though, was something I'd seen in her eyes when she last looked at me, something deeper than simple gratitude, however genuine. Something darker. There, I'd detected subtle undertones of worry, perhaps even..._fear_? A chill crept its way up my spine. Had we missed something? She and Paula were safe, they'd come into a small fortune, and those who'd been trying to harm them were currently behind me, getting well-acquainted with the pavement. What did she still have to worry about?

Troubled, I'd climbed a few more flights of stairs before an entirely new possibility dawned on me: Was the woman's fear truly for _me_, for _my_ well being?

I quickly tried to dismiss the thought, but unfortunately, the longer it lingered the more probable I found it to be. I've come far from my former life in these past few months, but not so far as to be able accept that from people, never will I come close to deserving that- any of that. Concern, empathy, trust, mercy...

_Redemption?_

No. None of this remains for men like me. Not after all the years of murders, of destruction, of blind obedience, of- No, not after all I've done. You see, though I don't particularly enjoy killing people, I'm quite good at it. I chose my path long ago, obeyed my orders without question, and, though few are not held in remorse today, I made my decisions. It's far too late to save me from myself, the monster I've become.

In spite of all this, I somehow got a second chance. Finch picked me up off the streets, convinced me I might be able to use my "special skill set", as he so delicately puts it, to do something good (for once in my life) by saving those who still have one, by being there in time to give _them_ a second chance. I'm unworthy of redemption, but this is almost reparation, and I owe that at the very least.

Yet that day, while I'd kept our numbers out of harm's way, some instinctive, ominous feeling writhed deep within me, impossible to tune out. Every sound, smell, and movement left me increasingly aware of my surroundings.

I arrived on the uppermost level of the parking structure and cut across, the bright lights of the city casting their soft, inspiring glow against the angular landscape. I grimaced ever so slightly. Ordinarily pleasant, tonight they only served as an extraordinarily stark and constant contrast to my foreboding. After all: every light has its shadow. The utter silence around me was piercing, playing tricks with my paranoia. It was only when I heard the tires screeching behind me that I fully understood the true magnitude of the danger I'd gotten myself into.

I turned and a hulking black vehicle slowed, braking to a stop within twenty yards of where I stood. Two people got out of the car: first Agent Mark Snow, but then, as if that wasn't vexing enough, another came forth, eyes surveying the scene uneasily. My stomach dropped- I knew her instantly.

_No. Not Carter._

My gaze fell upon her and a wave of emotion whelmed me, though not those one might expect: Carter's a good cop, a good person in general- the kind this city can't afford to lose: moral, skilled at her job, and literally honest to a fault. At the end of the day, I can't help but respect her for all that. Given this, after my appearance at her near fatal encounter in the alley the week before, I wouldn't suspect her of simply turning me in. I can only imagine the lies my friends in the CIA must have fabricated to get her to the point where she thought she had to betray me. I knew it wasn't difficult: they'd done it to me. Ultimately, I held no rage, no bitterness nor blame against her, only empathy.

However, as I turned to face Snow, the very man who had attempted to kill me once before -and very nearly succeeded- I immediately felt an entirely _different_ range of emotion.

"Hello, John."

"Mark." I seethed inwardly at the man's newfound emboldenment, shameless manipulation of Carter, and mere presence, I restrained myself, knowing better than to give him even little to work with.

"Glad to see you're still alive."

"I bet you are."

"Surprised you ended up in New York City." Snow paused, simpering devilishly. "Thought you'd get yourself a cabin in the woods. Montana, maybe."

Nothing good ever came from playing with serpents, and looking into the cold depths of his eyes I could almost see the slits. "What do you want, Mark?"

He flashed another sly smile and spread his arms to either side. "It's time to come home, John. Your slate's been wiped clean."

I met and held his gaze steadily. "You know that will never happen."

Suddenly, chaos. A gasp, a hiss, gunsmoke, a blur, and the singular resounding blast of a sniper's rifle, all playing sickeningly off the harsh acoustics of the parking structure to the rhythm of the throbbing, searing pain slicing through my abdomen.

Instinctively, I'd drawn my gun as the blast knocked me off my feet, firing two shots through the smoke before finding myself pressed against the harsh, unforgiving asphalt. My adversaries withdrew, crouching behind the SUV. I strained, willing my limbs to move in vain.

Someone shifted above in the corner of my eye: they'd spied their opportunity.

The blast in the air and rending of my leg in the next moment told me they'd seized it. I stifled a cry of anguish with teeth clenched, somehow managing to shoot off a few more. Whether they found their mark or not I can't say, nor where Carter and Snow went in the ensuing chaos. Call me careless, but at that point, I couldn't care less either.

I'd now nearly emptied my magazine. I gripped the weapon tightly, the bite of the cold metal against raw skin a welcome distraction from the excruciating pain I was striving to ignore. I dragged myself from the ground to a kneel and, clutching the place where the sniper's bullet had lodged in a futile effort to stanch the flow of an unebbing crimson tide, tried to stand. My legs buckled beneath me, but I managed to accomplish the simple feat, limping across the lot and into the stairwell to begin my arduous decent to nowhere.

The gun quickly warmed and grew heavy in my grip, leaving me bereft of distraction and, therefore, altogether too conscious of agony. Gritting my teeth, I peeled my hand from my side momentarily. I recall looking down to see the spreading crimson stain, but my body then began to seize.

Shock was setting in quickly. My throat constricted. Vision began to dim. Breathing became a taxing process. Each step was labored. Snow and Carter were surely on my tail. Slowly I came to the realization I truly was descending to nowhere: nowhere to run, nowhere to hide... nowhere to remain alive.

I tried my earpiece. "Hey, Harold?"

There was no wait. "John! I've been trying to call you."

"Yeah, I've-" I stifled my cry as a sudden spasm of pain wracked the length of my body. "-I've been kinda busy."

"Where are you?"

"In a parking structure... It's not looking good."

"Carter sold you out. They _got_ to her."

A wry laugh slipped from my lips, finding his limited information amusing in the sick, sadistic sort of way known only to the distorted mind. "Yeah, they're clever like that." I rasped.

A long period of silence ensued on the other end. I glanced behind me at the thick trail of pooling blood. _My_ blood. My hourglass. Time was running short.

"I wanted to say thank you, Harold. You gave me a second chance."

By this point, my condition must have shown through my voice, as his was suddenly strained after that, filled with the same fear, the same genuine concern that Wendy had shown what seemed like ages ago. He pleaded with me, his voice faltering. "It's not over John. I'm close, just get to the ground floor."

Something akin to emotion tugged at my throat. My legs stopped abruptly and I grasped at the handrail with blood-slick hands to brace myself, staggered by the uncharacteristic excess of emotion and lack of logic in the words of the man, usually so calculated, so detached. I shook my head slowly. "No! You stay away." I could feel my voice failing, ragged, but in it there remained a defined, threatening adamance, that of an order. "Don't even risk it."

A car accelerated in the background in reply.

I yanked the earwig out and cast it aside in exasperation. Both Carter and Snow were highly trained, armed, dangerous, and, most importantly, still close. Were he to run into one, let alone both of them, the older man wouldn't stand a chance. He had to know this, so why would he bother? I'd failed him. He'd hired me because of my "special skill set", my resourcefulness as a field agent. A mercenary, really. For years, that's all I've really been useful for: a human weapon. Men like myself are known to be expendable in the industry. Whether you lose one or -ahem-_"lose"_ one, there's always plenty more to choose from. Why should he, why would he care about what happens to me personally?

Suddenly my hazed mind allowed disjointed, rambling thoughts to form into something semi-coherent: _Does Finch now consider me more than an employee? Perhaps even a… friend?_

I physically shook the idea from my pounding head, taking a moment to retrain my thoughts. In my line of work you don't make friends. In fact, it's best to actively try not to unless, of course, you wish to have them maimed, murdered, or turned against you, and personally, I _don't_.

So, in the end we're all alone, and no one's coming to save you.

I gasped as the umpteenth spasm of pain streaked its path from toe to head and through the disks of my spine, cringing as it subsided. I had wanted to die, wanted to end it all for so long, but not like this. Only a few months ago this death would have been welcome, done with such ease, no regrets other than those I dragged around daily and would leave behind though that final act- but not now. My death would leave too much at stake for _others_ now. Finch for one, not to mention the countless numbers. I'd already failed too many in the past.

_Why_ did I always let this happen? Legions of thoughts swarmed aimlessly in my head, each fighting the rest for the spotlight without success, like a massive, unseen game of king of the hill. I tried to drown them out by focusing on my surroundings, noticing the ancient lights above had begun to flicker and dim, fading, fading… In a sudden, involuntary jerk, my hand pressed firmly into my raw wound in a resolve to prevent my losing any semblance of consciousness. I winced as the lights suddenly seemed to return to fully operational order and, leaning heavily on the handrail, continued my arduous descent one leaden step at a time.

On coming to the exit on the ground floor, I braced and threw myself against the door, staggering through and collapsing onto the guardrail dividing the sidewalk from parking and greedily sucked what scraps of air I could down through my throat and into my lungs. The screech of rubber on concrete pierced the night, cutting through my fogged head momentarily. I could only pray it was the sound of deliverance and not deserved demise.

With faint hope, I recognized Harold's car through half-open eyes and began to stagger forward. Haplessly swinging into the structure, he saw me and parked aberrantly, throwing his door open and swiftly hobbled to my aid, mouth agape. Eyes glazed with pain, I stretched out a failing arm and he caught me just as my ravaged body succumbed to its wounds. I strained to support myself, strained to ease the burden of my weight on the smaller man's shoulders, but I could go no further, any former ounce of strength sapped. He glanced down, his knitted brow suggesting he'd sensed my feeble endeavor. I saw the raw shock and sorrow in the cripple's eyes, felt it manifest beneath me as the strength yielded by determination as he tried to bring me forward. Suddenly, I knew with certainty that I'd considered Harold a friend for far longer than I'd realized. And now, in the end, I wasn't alone.

Without warning, the door opened behind us. We stopped and turned to find ourselves at the gunpoint of Detective Jocelyn Carter striding through the doorway with purpose, gleaming Glock 26 in hand.

"Hold it!"

Not even the wind dared disobey her as she glared steelily down that barrel.

She slowed to a stop, recognizing first Harold and then my state of complete vulnerability, her face clouding over.

"You?"

In that moment, we were at her mercy. In that moment, the detective was faced with a decision unlike any she'd made before. I could see the fine line in her world of black and white blur to grey before her eyes, forcing her to weigh humanity against justice and her guilt for causing all of this by believing the CIA's fabrications and selling me out against her loyalty to the NYPD.

Slowly, she lowered her gaze to the Glock and then returned to meet mine, steel softened. She looked away anxiously and then sighed, holstering her gun.

"Get him outta here. Come on." I was too weary too resist, and the detective turned, helping me into the backseat while Finch strapped in up front. I remember is raising my head, searching the depths of her dark eyes for something -anything- and beholding once more that immense fear on my behalf as she gazed back into mine. She bit her lip softly and slammed the door.

"Go!"

The seat lurched beneath me as we peeled out from under the dim fluorescent lighting and into the streets, consumed by the cover of night. I knew the roads beyond the window well, every lane and boulevard, but they were all but familiar, melding into a distorted, foreign blur of sensation. I fought against my own flesh, striving to remain conscious. Everything slowed tenfold, the very fabric of time itself seeming to stretch like taffy, pulling, pulling until the car was nearly at a standstill despite the blurred twenty on the sign out the window and the fifty clearly displayed on the speedometer.

After that, all became black.


End file.
